


Third Time

by cherryvanilla



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode: s02e10 Noel, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I really do feel that I'm dying / I really do feel that I'm dead."-A Noel post-ep. Written August 1, 2001.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Time

**Author's Note:**

> Summary from "The Tower of Learning" by Rufus Wainwright.

* * * * * *

It hadn't been the first time he'd thought about. Not by a long shot. The first time was after Joanie, standing at her funeral and realizing that nothing again would ever be the same. He'd gone home that night and into the bathroom; his father had a straight edge razor and the blade was cold and sharp against his fingertip. He'd put the pad of it in his mouth, tasted the blood. Then he'd raised the blade to his wrist and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Only he had seen Joanie instead, and his Mom was weeping in the kitchen and his father had the Baseball game on. His hand had shook and the blade fell to the floor. He splashed water on his face and left the room without looking up.

College was the next. Except this time he decided to bury himself in pot and hope that maybe he'd be one of the few people to overdose on a non-lethal drug.

What it all boiled down to, he'd realized, many years later, was that he simply didn't have the balls. He'd hope and pray for it to just happen: take a few too many hits, have a few too many drinks -- overdosing, alcohol poisoning, simple stuff.

The third time, the third time he got caught. The third time, his thoughts were out of control, his body felt hollow, his head was a jumbled mixture of fragments and when the hand went through the window, he'd barely felt it.

He hadn't gotten a chance to think about what he'd done, the Super had seen to that. When he'd inspected his hand, he'd felt a brief flash of disappointment after seeing the glass hadn't even nicked the skin around his veins.

Maybe it was part embarrassment, not telling Stanley how it had really happened at first. [I pushed my hand through a window Stanley and what do I have to show for it? I can't even do that right.]

And then:

[I didn't think that.]

Those words had echoed in his head throughout the rest of his session. Afterward, he'd been surprised Stanley hadn't pushed the issue, had felt almost disappointed that he hadn't been called on it. [It was the biggest load of bullshit you'd ever spun and you got away with it. How does it feel, Lyman?]

[I didn't think that.]

He'd wondered how long he would keep "not thinking" it. He'd wondered if maybe three times failing was all that was needed to be convinced that something wasn't a good idea.

When he'd tried to listen to the music and heard sirens in it's place, really heard them, he knew this fight would be his toughest yet. He'd wondered if he had the balls for it.

And he couldn't help but be glad that Donna had been there, that she insisted on taking him to the hospital -- because the unconscious thought: 'walk into the ongoing traffic' had come out of nowhere.

But then he'd shaken off the sirens' call as best he could and they had walked on the sidewalk and he'd said to himself, maybe, if thoughts were all there was going to be from now on, he could live with that.

Maybe, three times and no dice would be enough.

END  



End file.
